


your heart full of goodness (speaks to my devil inside and I crave it)

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Female Bucky Barnes, Female Steve Rogers, Genderswap, Other, british murdering of americanisms, i mean hell i've been to colorado once 24 years ago i've got no clue what you guys do, some semi-casual misandry appropriate to a reverse-y 2010s, some semi-casual misandry appropriate to a reverse-y 40s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She forces air in because as much as this hurts, as much as some part of her would rather just die than need Jaime Barnes to save her dumb ass yet again, she will never, ever get tired of watching fist connect eagerly with nose as Bucky wades in. Bucky makes it look like Marlene Dietrich or one of the other action heroes, doesn't even muss her stockings as she gives Steph's opponent a sharp boot to the ass. It's like street fight poetry and if it wasn't that Steph seriously doesn't need any more reasons for anyone to call her a fella, she'd write epics, great long classic things that they'd turn into fancy pictures with technicolour posters, about the sight of Bucky smashing her knee into a bully's sternum.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky and Steve but like, everyone has been binary gender flipped. Or something. No one look at me, I can't even function after seeing The Winter Soldier. This is not a thing, for whatever value a thing is.</p><p>(Title is from Untouchable by Dragonette, which is my Super Soldiers With No Self Esteem anthem)</p>
            </blockquote>





	your heart full of goodness (speaks to my devil inside and I crave it)

Stephanie Rogers is a fucking idiot. She knows this because she's struggling to breathe through a punched diaphragm, asthmatic anyway and her so-flat-it's-fucking-conclave chest had rattled when she'd woken up that morning and one of these days she is going to fucking _die_ because she can't stop fighting. It might be that day.

 

 _And that'd be alright_ , she thinks, as the other girl's fist connects with her rib cage again and she sees black and white stars explode in front of her face like she's still in the cinema, _if it was in the right place_. She's angry and shamed and she swings, flails, misses and perhaps it'd be better to get it over with already.

 

Steph isn't scared to lay down her life, has never had much of one to give in the first place but she wants it to mean something. Something more than being poor and ill and cold and so frail she'll cark out in a back alley. _Not enough meat for the stray dogs_ , she thinks, bitterly and braces her shaking hand on a bin lid, "I-i-s that all ya got?"

 

"Hey!" Steph is so close to blacking out, can't even see and for a second she thinks the lurch in her heart is it finally giving out but then _Bucky_.

 

She forces air in because as much as this hurts, as much as some part of her would rather just die than need Jaime Barnes to save her dumb ass yet again, she will never, ever get tired of watching fist connect eagerly with nose as Bucky wades in. Bucky makes it look like Marlene Dietrich or one of the other action heroes, doesn't even fuckin' muss her stockings as she gives Steph's opponent a sharp boot to the ass. It's like street fight poetry and if it wasn't that Steph seriously doesn't need any more reasons for anyone to call her a fella, she'd write _epics_ , great long classic things that they'd turn into fancy pictures with technicolour posters, about the sight of Bucky smashing her knee into a bully's sternum.

 

"Ha-d 'm on thropes," she wheezes as Bucky comes close, hauling her up roughly by the front of her fraying blue dress to get her into a standing position, give her lungs space.

 

"Sure you did. C'mon," Steph's tucked under a strong shoulder, nestled against warm breast and rough woollen uniform and, wait-

 

"Did you get your orders?" Steph can't help it, the wobble in her voice that she could just about put down to having had the stuffing (all 88lbs of it) beaten out of her but Bucky won't, so why bother?

 

"Yep. Goin' to London 0800, put some fuckin' lipstick on, we're goin' out," Bucky is smiling down at Steph, dark hair neatly rolled (apart from that bit at the back that sticks up, that Steph pulls on when they're tussling) and with the brightest shade of red Steph's ever seen painted across her smirk.

 

"What? Where?" Steph is not asking the right questions.

 

"The future! I got us some guys, real fuckin' cute ones courtesy a' the new hat," Bucky is grinning at her- Steph isn't sure that she'd call it 'thousand-watt,' more 'one of them fancy neon jobs that indicates stuff up to no good and a lot of fun', "C'mon Steve we've gotta give the poor fellas'a Brooklyn a last good night out."

 

Steph laughs, coughs, stumbles, Bucky pulls her up, drags her along, pushes her up against the wall to hold her still while she does her hair and gives her the same danger-red lips and never fucking asks her why she was having a fight in a pile of bins in a back alley. Bucky never questions anything about Steph, never once asked why she was so small and ill and stupid. Steph swears some of her asthma is holding her breath until Bucky realises she could do better things.

 

Steph knows she's a burden on Bucky but she can't give her up and she's pretty sure Buck wouldn't let her.

  
-  


Here's the thing: no one else calls her Steve. Steph doesn't even call herself that; she doesn't deserve it because when Bucky says _Steve_ she says it with unearnt reverence, like she's never even imagined anything so fantastic.

 

Steph thinks Bucky must have got dropped on her head a lot in the five years before they met.

  
-  
　

Everyone calls Bucky 'Bucky.' It's like knowing (cus they've seen a bunch of science newsreels recently, with the expo on) iron has some kind of technical name that no one would ever call it because ferrous metal don't hold up impossibly tall buildings, Bucky does.

 

Actually Steph thinks she might be a bit drunk, at the end of that thought. The fellas are watching them with hurt glares, cus Bucky's got her arm round Steph's shoulder and Steph doesn't think Bucky's actually noticed it yet because she just bent her neck and nuzzled Steph's ear and Steph feels that sticky-up bit of hair brush her neck when Bucky turns back, cus she's still so close and jesus christ _what was in those sours_? Cus Steph needs a large supply for when Bucky comes back.

  
-  


"I don't want to kill anyone," she's not lying, except _I want to be with Bucky_ , "I don't like bullies."

  
-  
  


It works. Steph stares down at her chest in a combination of horror and amazement. Where she had been all skinny, like a guy, she's got shoulders bigger than Bucky's, other things bigger than Bucky's- yikes. She stumbles forward and her hips have a wide roll, thighs that she knows damned well could be murder weapons. Jesus.

 

Steph doesn't miss Agent Carter's impulsive hand- his fingers (surprisingly calloused, for a guy) reaching out as though the ruined shreds of her brassiere have a gravitational pull. Doesn't miss the timid little blonde nurse staring in awe. Doesn't miss a few uh... oh god. _A few pairs a' trousers that ain't fitting so well_ , says Bucky's voice. Cus hell, she's at least as tall as Buck now and someone's turned up her _eyes_ so she can hardly stop seeing tented fabric and yet-

 

She misses the shooter. _Nice work, pal, fuckin' getting it all and you use it to look pretty stead'a saving anyone_.

 

-　

  


Turns out that was pretty much the plan for her anyway.

　

-  
  


It aches, it fucking _burns_ \- Steph's been ashamed as long as she can remember. Ashamed of her pathetic, traitorous body, ashamed of looking Bucky in the face when she's cleaning up yet another black eye or bloody mouth and ashamed of being so fucking poor they can't eat because she can't fucking work. But she's never, ever loathed herself like this- like she's on fire and turning to ice and everything in her is disgusting black sludge, like she's an actual piece of shit. She is an actual piece of shit, though because those thousands of times that Bucky saved her and she couldn’t fucking be there this one time.

 

Bucky. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. _Fuck._

It's the only word in her head. There's a lot of good women out there, she knows. A lot of men (and boys- fuck, some of the British girls out here are so goddamned young) back home opening letters telling them their sweetheart or their wife or their daughter's gone and Steph'll bring back as many as she can, for sure but if she fails Bucky she's not coming back at all. If she fails Bucky she fails- she can't ever go back, can't put those fucking tights on again. Because Steph can't live without Bucky.

 

Agent Carter's a swell guy. Steph feels a twinge of badness about the affections she thinks she’s probably playing with a bit to get this airlift, old movie reels telling her it's no way to treat a fella but in comparison to the spasms of guilt wracking her entire, stupid, enhanced form right now it’s nothing. Carter has a steely look in his eye, even more reinforcedly determined than usual and fuck, Steph truly does appreciate what he’s doing here - directly defying orders to assist an unofficial mission, after a lifetime of striving in a woman’s world. He’s wearing a sort of variant on the combat suits they wear, short hair styled in something not entirely unlike a military wave and Steph understands better than anyone that desire to be able to do something. She hopes this is what he wanted.

 

As she jumps out of the plane the wind whipping at her helmet thwacks out the same panicked rhythm as the mantra in her head; _BuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBucky._

  
  
-

 

Steph never really thought she’d rescue anyone, up until a few months back. She could barely manage to keep her own lungs going.

 

Sprinting up a staircase, she pleads for one last save; _I’m sorry Buck_ and _I need you to be here_ and Steph has never really been rescuing Bucky.

  
  
-

 

Steph knew her new body was strong, sure. But she didn’t realise the ferocity with which she could rip through anything until she saw Bucky’s restraints and _dear god_ , she’s more than halfway dead and Steph is just grateful for that bit still there. The bit that snarls at her because Bucky thought she was someone else, defiant and beautiful and maybe it’s the fear but Steph suddenly has a really good idea about why she felt bad over Agent Carter, as she watches her best friend in the entire universe try to stand, covered in piss and puke and chemicals.

  
-

 

Later, Bucky asks her about the Red Skull and Steph looks, nonplussed at her.

 

“Y’know, Steve-” Bucky is laughing, with her eyes if not quite her voice and Steph is so grateful her heart nearly jumps out of her mouth, “the fuckin’ freaky-looking dame with no skin? Aw, Steve don’t tell me this is something I’ve fuckin’ dreamt, pal- cus the stuff I did is fucked up enough.”

 

And Steph wants to say “ _You know, Buck, I literally completely forgot that nutcase because I was only thinking about getting you out,_ ” and “ _Well, this all seems messed up, let’s just go buy a farm in buttfuck Ohio or somewhere where even I can keep you safe_ ,” and “ _Jaime Barnes, I assure you I was not looking at any freaky-lookin’ skinless broads when I could have been looking at you_ ” but she’s feeling something like a return to asthma and so says nothing as she lunges.

 

Bucky’s lips are warm and eager, chapped and broken but in a way that just makes Steph think about how fuckin’ _hot_ Bucky being alive gets her.

  
-  


Bucky pretends to be better about three weeks before she is actually better and Steph doesn’t really give a shit so long as the haunted look is receding, albeit behind the range of a rifle.

  
-  


“Y’might wanna know,” says Dum Dum, her face schooled to an easy pub laughter as she glugs at her wine, auburn curls falling around her Amazon's jaw as she swallows, “that while the fellas back home… look, we know we ain’t exactly spoilt for choice out here and neither is they an’ if they keep each other warm an’ take each other to the pictures then well an’ good but Steve. Steve y’can’t keep takin’ Sergeant Barnes to bed, even you ain’t above all the rules and you’ll break her fuckin’ heart if you get her discharged.”

 

“It’s Steph,” she says, mildly. And she feels so selfish but she can’t stop.

 

-

　

Cigarettes- Steph chucks them at Buck, -she could smoke them now but even in this body, this powerful thing, she knows she’s not gunna look like Bucky does when the thick fumes wreathe round her fingers and she looks temporarily blissed-out. Digging further into the sack, Steph absentmindedly hands her ration of pads over to Bucky, without even looking, like they're back in their apartment and Buck's calling at her through the bathroom door.

 

"Oh, I uh," Jesus, Bucky is blushing- Steph panics- did she say something mad? She knows people start going weird, at war- "Uh, don't seem to have a use for 'em since the, uh. Thing." And Bucky has never once in her life looked helpless, not chained to a gurney, not puking her guts up and Steph kind of wants to throw up herself because - "Don't you need 'em, now?"

 

Steph wrinkles her nose, "Hadn't even... I guess not?"

 

Bucky stares at her, the crimson receding a bit and Steph thinks it was anger, not embarassment maybe, because she claps her on the shoulder- "Huh. Well, better pillow stuffin' for us."

  
-  
  


Steve’s entire body is panic, this is the stupidest thing they’ve ever done and also, if she’s discharged tomorrow she won’t care. At all. The entire fucking garrison could break down the door of the bombed-out toilet they’re in and - _hell_ , she never promised Bucky romance but this is pretty bad, even on their scale and they keep giggling like they’re teenage boys.

 

Bucky’s thick leather skirt is hitched round her waist and her jacket is thrust as far back down her shoulders as the cold will let it, exposing scars and dirt and gunpowder and _nipples_ and Steve has seen Bucky’s breasts a thousand times, they used to share baths. But Bucky never threw her head back, knuckle reddening between her teeth to stifle the keening noise she’s making, tits standing to attention as the cold air hits the saliva trails Steve left there, Bucky’s legs hooked around her hips and her hands fisting blonde hair.

 

Steve grips Bucky’s ass with one hand and twists aside cotton and wool with the other and oh god she’d never really thought, even after Bucky pretended to stumble on the way out of the bar, pleaded with Steph- Steve, to take her home and then as soon as they were out of sight, wrestled her to a wall and said _“So help me pal, I can’t fuckin’ rub one out on the mattress again, if you don’t touch me I’m gunna fuckin’ die.”_

 

But Steve’d never really thought that Bucky would be _wet_ for her, soft curls drenched and Steve kind of knew they’d been lying together, trying to pretend they didn’t know what the other one was doing. Bucky’d be thinking of a fella, surely- kissing Steve was different to actually letting her slip her fingers inside her, different to Bucky’s glistening mouth wailing _Steve_ and writhing, grabbing at her breasts like she’s drowning and Steve’s the answer.

 

Steve has never felt so proudly worshipful of Bucky, never been more in love, never felt like she’s going to just burn up and die as when Bucky arches and digs her heel into Steve’s ass, whining and shaking with an expression of pure, almost shy joy as Steve feels her spasm and the moonlight through th- _oh,_ shit. The toilet door, the _toilet moonlight_ is giving Bucky a halo and they are kissing and laughing so recklessly, so gleefully that Steve doesn’t quite realise what Bucky’s doing until she’s wriggled herself to the ground and unbuckled Steve’s costume, pressing her face between weaponised thighs and _Bucky_.

  
-

 

When Bucky falls, Steph dies. Steph dies and transcends and has to be replaced by Steve because even though she’s failed, even though her entire existence is a sickness worse than any she ever had before, the only thing she can carry on as is what Bucky thought she could be. Before Bucky learnt the truth, with terror-filled eyes and wind tearing through her hair. 

  
-

 

It doesn’t really hurt, being dead and then not, except that if Steve was going to live it’s too cruel to make her do it without Bucky. She can’t- she can follow orders and do things but it’s only because she’s starting to think that she’s not going to be allowed to die.

  
-  


Steve attempts to have sex with Antonia fucking Stark because it seems like something everyone else in the 21st Century’s got round to and _god_ everything about it is the _worst_ and they don’t even get into, let alone out of the elevator before they agree to just never, ever, ever talk about this again.

 

 -

 

“Stark was a bad choice, Steve,” Nathaniel says, evenly, smiling up at Steve through strands of red hair plastered to his cheekbone during the gunfight- and how does he even know? “But there are good ones. Really good ones. I’ll find you some.”

Nat is beautiful, extraordinarily tough. Steve can see how his methods -seduction and cover and sudden, skilled outbursts of extraordinarily intense violence- are so effective. He's the only man on the team, although they let them in the military now (he doesn't think Nat is military, nor that he cares very much about people 'letting' him) and Steve wonders how many skinny little girls who weren't fit for combat could've been saved pissing themself in a trench somewhere if they'd thought of that back then- it'd seemed wrong, fellas weren't built for it, frail hips and balls hanging like targets but Nat and Mario make it look right.

Hell, how many skinny little girls could've been saved the bother of serum and ice and losing everyone? Oh, fuck. She tries not to think about it. But.

"How about Thor? What, I'm serious, she's older than you at least," Nat is not serious, Thor has that little space-science guy. 

Steve sighs heavily and wants nothing more than for no one to ever even think about her having sex ever again. She might issue a statement about how, tragically, it’s just not possible. Because that’s true and also hides the truth and she’s never going to stop hurting.

  
  
-

 

They have fuckin’ fancy stockings now. Steve stands in the shop and considers them, having been dragged out by Kate and her ...sidekick or whatever Clint was to find "hemlines from at least one of the last four decades, Steve, _c'mon_."

Both Hawkeyes make extraordinarily lewd suggestions- to each other, to Steve and she raises an eyebrow at them but isn’t actually looking. Bucky would’ve loved nylons you could wear to fight in without a fussy belt. Steve’s seen the X-Men, she knows perfectly well Bucky wouldn’t’ve bothered with that thick skirt in 2014.

 

-

 

Steve has never really considered that there might be a point where she stops missing Bucky.

  
  
-

 

 _Sam is amazing,_ thinks Steve. _Sam is like all of the Commandos but with wings, which I’d love to say I believe they’re all sporting now but Dernier’d blow my bunk up for thinkin’ it._

 

“Not that that’s possible but I’d be really grateful if you didn’t do anything that could endanger this bed,” says Nathaniel, flopping backwards with his slim, deadly wrist ( _like a tripwire_ ) across his eyes.

  
-  
  


“Who the hell is Bucky?”

 

Steve is going to be sick or come or both and she doesn’t know what’s worse.

  
  
-

 

Steve can’t hurt her, although she does. She has to because they are soldiers, following broken orders and even as she chokes Bucky she feels the familiar arch, a sick imitation of the million times they slept side by side and Steve doesn’t know how anything could be so cruel.

 

She saves the world. She’s never rescued Bucky from anything.

  
-  
  


“So,” Steve is trying to breathe but maybe she’s got her cigarette allergy back as grey eyes stare at her, even but nervous as they get closer, “I think we used’ta do this?”

 

Steve tries for about half a nanosecond to resist the urge to crush Bucky to her, painfully smashing their breasts together and hoisting Bucky against the doorframe on her thigh and she thinks a grateful, joyous litany of  _I can die now_ until Bucky says “Not yet you fucking can’t” and metal rips Steve’s dress apart.

  
-  


The good thing is that SHIELD can’t forgive, firstly because it ought to be asking for it not demanding and secondly because good riddance to bad Hydra.

  
-  


“Think this is the last of ‘em, Buck,” Steve is filthy, aching, her hair in the sort of mess the 21st Century loves and she can barely find the will to crawl out of the half-closed lift doors. Hydra goons are like bees- you can't get too bothered about one or two but kicking the hive is an experience.

 

Bucky is looking down at her, mysteriously undishevelled or maybe just no less so than usual and Steve’s suddenly acutely aware that her costume’s torn across her chest, one arm hanging at her waist and a fair amount of torn and burnt breast-support visible -Steve hesitates to call it a brassiere, that used to mean something that was fancy not for the high-tech fabric but the dame in it. And to her horror, Bucky is staring and Steve’s never actually quite got used to being looked at like a thing to behold.

 

“Hey,” she offers the file up and metal fingers pull her to her feet, swaying, “so. We could get married or something?”

 

Bucky laughs at her as she torches the file, holding it in the arm that’s impervious to flames and Steve lets go of a breath she’s been holding for a century.


End file.
